


S'il Vous Plaît

by spnstuck



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Dorado, Drabble, F/F, First Meeting, I didn't think I shipped them but mcfrick i was wrong, Mercy curses, Omnic War I guess eh, Tracer is not as happy as she seems (tm), im dying I love these characters...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 21:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7405321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnstuck/pseuds/spnstuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This really isn't how Tracer expected to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	S'il Vous Plaît

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of quick and messy. It was a random it's-midnight-and-I-have-to-write thing with minor editing, so any improvements or suggestions would be welcome!

_“And Tracer,” Winston said, “Be careful out there.” He searched her face imploringly, worry creasing his frown. Red warning sirens punctuated his sentence as soldiers filed out of the room around them._

_Tracer grinned and delivered a mock salute. “Who do you think you’re talking to? This isn’t my first war, after all.” The blue stabilizer on her chest hummed in agreement._

_“I know. That’s not what worries me.”_

Two hours later, and Tracer couldn’t remember the last time a mission had been so...simple. She bounced from target to target, springing from walls and out of windows like a gust of air. Her guns spun; a masked soldier stumbled and fell forty feet away. Her feet lightly touched the hood of the payload (“Are you going to help me deliver this thing or not?” Someone shouted.) and she launched herself to the nearest rooftop. She took the moment to rest, the wind sliding across her face in a refreshing caress.

               Dorado’s lights flowed underneath her, gifting everything a warm, bright atmosphere even when the sound of gunshots thudded in the distance. The growl of bombs cushioned by walls and bodies.

               But this high, it could have been thunder or fireworks. And when you moved as fast as Tracer did, it was hard to realize that your bullets were sinking into the hearts of people instead of training omnics.

               Tracer shook the scowl from her face just as her earpiece buzzed. “How are doing? We lost our visual on you.”

               “Aces, Winston!” She chirped, already scanning the horizon for gunpowder flashes.

               A pause on the other end of the line. “…Right,” Winston coughed. “Have you tried to recall?”

               Now it was Tracer’s turn to hesitate. “Ah…haven’t quite gotten around to that yet.”

               “Just like we practiced, remember?” Winston asked steadily. Not that practice had been very successful. Tracer winced.

               “I remember.”

               “Do you think you can take out a sniper for us? Pharah thought she saw one by the fountain, in the city square.”

               “I’m on it!” Tracer flitted across the maze of rooftops, circling the bright rectangle in the city’s center. No one standing around inside; the payload was a quarter of a mile behind, if the shouting was any indication.  

               “I’m checking the buildings,” she said into her receiver. The houses were empty; the city had been evacuated days before in anticipation of a conflict, and now the darkened hallways possessed an eerie, hollow atmosphere. Goosebumps rippled across Tracer’s arms.

               She ducked behind walls and shelves, searching for any sign of recent entry, but the thin layer of dust over the floor remained undisturbed. The stabilizer’s soft whirring was the only accompaniment to her breathing. Tracer tapped her earpiece again. “Don’t bother falling back, Winston. It’s all clear!”

               “Ten-four,” his voice crackled. “We’re pushing forward.”

               “I’ll join you in a minute,” she quipped. Tracer flipped from the second floor, landing neatly next to the dry fountain. She slid her phone from her jacket pocket, scanning the objective list: ESCORT PAYLOAD: ESTIMATED 4 HOURS. It looked like they were going to be finished on schedule.

               The phone shattered in her hands.

               Tracer yelped and tripped backwards, a piece of metal stinging her cheek as it swung past her. In an instant she was back on her feet, catching a glimpse of an ankle sliding out of view between two of the buildings. Where she hadn’t checked.

               “Gotcha!” She exclaimed, whirring forward so fast that she had to skid around a corner before slamming into a wall. No one-but there, the hiss of a grappling hook from the window ledge above. “Ha!”

               “Tracer, did you find something?” 76 sounded annoyed, but he always sounded annoyed.

               “The sniper!” She skirted the building’s perimeters, shooting up the fire escape and vaulting inside, where she was greeted by the whisper of a bullet streaming by her ear. She pulled both pistols’ triggers, and brass rained to the floor when she pointed towards the open doorway. Tracer blinked, and there was a figure flashing on the outskirts of her line of sight, thin and blue-purple in color.

               “Watchu runnin’ from, love?” She sang, unhooking a pulse bomb and tossing through the window into the next room. It screeched and exploded, knocking back a row of chairs. A red dot blended with the blue of her stabilizer, and Tracer dropped into a roll, following where the dust from her bomb exposed the sniper’s vantage point a floor above, across the square. She’d checked that apartment earlier, and there was only one doorway inside. She just had to get there before the sniper could leave.

               Tracer hurtled forward, skipping up the stairs so fast that her felt barely brushed the floor. In a few seconds she had her back to the room’s door, breathing lightly, guns rewound and reloaded. She kicked the door open, pivoted inward, locked her gaze with a set of narrow amber eyes, leapt forward to pull her opponent’s gun from her hands.

               But the sniper anticipated the move; she merely sidestepped Tracer’s leg and knocked her gun into Tracer’s stomach, slamming her to the ground. Tracer rolled with the momentum of her fall, teleporting against the far wall and blazing her guns towards the other woman.

               But the sniper was, again, already gone, running along the outer balcony overhanging the square. She’d switched her rifle with a broader, heavier gun that Tracer didn’t recognize. Tracer shot forward, ready to overtake her, already willing herself into a wisp of blue lightning, when the woman stuck out her leg and Tracer _tripped._ For the first time that night she felt a spike of fear climb into her throat. Her head hit the stucco floor, her hands scraped the ground, and her guns skidded over the edge and clattered out of sight.

               The sniper stepped on Tracer’s chest.

               Lithe and streamlined, her skin a concentrated blue, long ponytail a sleek, shiny purple. The V-neck of her bodysuit cut to her stomach.

               She was beautiful, and she was terrifying.

               The woman leaned closer, her breath curling around Tracer: mint. “ _Tu as fini de courir?”_ She hissed.

               Tracer winked. “I don’t speak French, love.” Then her stabilizer pulsed, and she recalled.

               Her surroundings winked out of existence; there was only blackness, and blackness, and a cold, crisp air shoving itself down Tracer’s throat, pulling at her eyes, stretching her limbs. There was always a split second where Tracer believed that it wouldn’t work. That she’d been unmoored from reality again, lost between folds of existence.

               Her knees crashed to the ground and her vision exploded in white and black lights. She couldn’t stifle the scream that tore from her throat. Nausea washed over her body, and Tracer tasted blood somewhere in the back of her mouth. Her chest burned and snapped with every ragged breath. When she looked up, it was across the barrel of the woman’s rifle, pointed to her temple.

               At least she was still alive, at least she was still in Dorado, in the 21st century, but that didn’t mean she would live. Tracer felt a slight twinge of disappointment that this, of all things, was how she was going to die.

               “Please,” she whispered. The woman didn’t react. Tracer reached out a hand tenderly, ignoring the wave of pain that rolled down to her core. She grasped the end of the gun, pulled it down from her face. “ _Please_ , I-I can’t-“ She licked her lips, trying to push out words she didn’t recognize. “I don’t want to die.”

               The sniper’s expression changed almost imperceptibly. A flicker across her eyes translated into her gun twitching further away from Tracer.

               Tracer tried to speak again, but the words died on her lips, so that she was only mouthing “Please, please, please,” over and over again to her killer’s sneer.

               But then the woman hesitated. And glanced out the window, towards where the payload must now be rolling into the square. “Next time, ça fera bien plus mal,” she said, then leapt out the window and vanished.

               Tracer stared after her.

               “Tracer! _Tracer! We found her!”_ A soft, orange-yellow glow filled her vision, and the pain settling in her limbs began numbing and draining away. Tracer found that she could lift her head.

               “Mercy?” She asked weakly.

               “Hold still, you’re going to be okay,” Mercy replied, stepping into view. “I saw you from across the square. What happened?”

               Tracer sat up, her head already clearing, energy pouring back into stabilizer. “The sniper caught me off guard. She-she got away,” she murmured.

               “You’re alive, and that’s what matters.” Mercy smiled gently, helping Tracer up with one hand. The staff flickered off, and Mercy tilted her head towards her receiver, gazing upwards. “Oh, my God, Genji’s fucked himself up again. I’ve got to go. Do you think you can get back out there?”

               Tracer nodded slowly.

                Mercy frowned as she edged out the doorway. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. There will be other chances. We won today.” Her wings opened, and she was gone, drifting back out the door.

               “There will be other chances!” Tracer repeated to herself, trying to inject some optimism into her tone.

               She couldn’t distinguish if the sensation crawling down her spine was fear or something more like exhilaration. 

               She wasn't sure it mattered.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I might write a sequel to this but tbh I have no idea. I guess if people like it?
> 
> So Widowmaker says two French phrases here:
> 
> "Ne fonctionne pas maintenant": Are you done running?
> 
> "ça va faire mal plus": It will hurt more
> 
> I don't speak French so google translate is a friend. Please please PLEASE correct me if I'm wrong.


End file.
